


Gold Nuggets

by crowmunchies



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins-Centric, Dwalin Is A Softie, Everyone Is Gay, Found Family, Khuzdul is enby inclusive shut up, Lovely Bofur, Multi, OC not shipped with anyone, Ori Is A Sweetheart, Original Character-centric, Product of Quarantine, Team as Family, Trans Fíli, Trans Tauriel, Trans Thorin Oakenshield, Tree Spirits??, Underage Smoking, also, i guess, lol chicken nuggie title, mentions of transphobia, misgendering does occur, nb author, non-binary original character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:41:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25188847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowmunchies/pseuds/crowmunchies
Summary: The Company of Thorin Oakenshield didn’t really need another member- but they do seem to be very good with directions.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Gandalf | Mithrandir, Bilbo Baggins & Original Character(s), Bilbo Baggins & Thorin's Company, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Gandalf | Mithrandir & Original Character(s), Gandalf | Mithrandir & Thorin's Company, Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies), Thorin Oakenshield & Original Character(s), Thorin's Company & Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Unexpected Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> The world doesn’t need anymore OC fan fiction but they’re gonna keep coming and this is my escapist fantasy stuff so read it if you like.

River spirits are legend in Middle Earth. Perhaps you may know a jolly fellow called Tom Bombadil who lives in that terrible stretch of woods that begins on the borders of Buckland, and his lovely wife, Goldberry. Goldberry is a river spirit.  
Tree Spirits are myth in Middle Earth. They’re not Ents or Ent wives, or any other thing you may have heard of.  
Tree Spirits were friends of Elves, Ents, and all beasts in the first age. They disappeared shortly before the first Great War of the Rings.  
The Tree Spirits were said to be benevolent. They were known to be lazy and relaxed in nature, and they enjoyed plucking fruits from the trees they inhabited, and playing practical jokes on travelers.  
They were said to look strange- like Men or Elves, but with the added not usually charming characteristics belonging to a cat or perhaps a raccoon.  
Anyways, not much is known about Tree Spirits in these times. A few still remain.  
One is very old and a full blooded Tree Spirit. None of the free races of Middle Earth could tell you how old the Tree Spirits get to be- but this one will pass soon. Don’t worry about old Toothy anyway, he’s perfectly happy eating berries and apples, plums, and living the last of his days in peace in the south.  
The second is quite young, one would guess, and an orphan. She looks about 17 or maybe even 18 if you judge her by human standards, and she’s only half Tree Spirit. The other half or her is human. Her name is Ren, her hair is white and shocking like winter, and her eyes are blue and the most piercing and deep one could look into. She’s a traveler. She is beautiful and strange like the cold itself.  
The third is a bit younger than Ren. Their name is Pangur. They’re quite tall, quite slim, and not easy or hard on the eyes. Their hair and clothes are dark and dull and scruffy, and their eyes are as feline as anything. They are not full blooded either. Human mother and all that.  
The Tree Spirit that sired Pangur is very dead and their mother didn’t want them and sometimes Pangur wonders about their parents with an aching sort of feeling.  
You could call them a traveler, or a tramp if you please. Pangur’s been all over Middle Earth. Eru, they even tried their hand at sailing one summer, and they were alright at it, but they only went down the coast and back up to deliver pretty cloth and other goods to ports.  
Presently, the first days of summer are treating Pangur well. They’re in the west, camping close enough to Bree, in a relatively hidden thicket of woods, because they didn’t feel like getting robbed to stay in a room at an inn.  
-  
Gandalf the Grey is on a mission, and his objective is to get a Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End to join a quest.  
He had left Bree this morning with his pipe in his mouth and feeling optimistic about what he may find ahead, and a Wizard is rarely wrong.  
By the afternoon he has almost reached Buckland, there is a dry heat and a soft wind all about the Brandywine that reminds Gandalf of all the things he enjoys in the Shire. The old Wizard crosses the cool water, and stops to take a rest by the river,-he immediately feels something strange.  
The presence is not unlike- well no. They’re all gone, and they have been since before the Great War.  
Then he hears a soft and low humming to his left, and he sees a human shaped figure upstream, with a fishing pole between their two feet, reclined on the grass.  
Like a Tree Spirit would, after a good minute of him staring at them, he hears a good natured “ hullo”, from somewhere under the brim of their brown bucket hat.  
Gandalf chuckles, and then stands up and walks over to them.  
“Hello, my good fellow. Pray tell, are you some kind of Spirit?”  
They grunted, “Last time I checked,”  
“And who’s asking?”  
“Why, I am Gandalf the Grey, at your service.”  
Two glowing eyes peeked out from under the hat. “Aren’t you that Wizard,” they said with plain interest, and then abruptly sat up and began reeling in something big. “ bugger, bugger.”  
Gandalf laughed again. “Last time I checked.”  
-  
Bilbo was enjoying a peaceful morning of puffing on his pipe, stuffed with a bit of Hamfast’s particularly good Old Toby of course.  
He didn’t have a care in the world, though he didn’t yet know what he was going to make for second breakfast.  
Bilbo blew neat white smoke rings above his garden, and sighed quite contentedly. Perhaps he would have some smoked trout for luncheon today- or maybe dinner.  
Suddenly, a little bug came and flew into his pipe! It was most irregular, and then he heard footsteps, and looking up from his smoking Bilbo saw a strange big person in all grey robes and hat, with a long silvery beard, gazing at him expectantly.  
Next to him was another big person in old brown and grey clothes, though not quite as big of a person. They must’ve been a lad, an adolescent. His eyes were very large and yellow, but not from jaundice like Richie Bolger had when he was born. They were shiny.  
“Good morning” Bilbo said.  
“What do you mean? Do you wish me a good morning…” Gandalf eyed Bilbo uncomfortably, “...or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not,” now he leaned forward on his staff, “Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on? Hm?” Pangur poorly stifled a laugh.  
“All of them at once, I suppose,” Bilbo answered weakly.  
“Can I help you?”  
“That remains to be seen.” Gandalf said, meaningfully, “I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure.”  
“An adventure? No, I don't imagine anyone west of Bree,” Here our Bilbo took his pipe from his lips and pointed it vaguely east, if only to emphasize his point, “Would have much interest in adventures. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner!”  
“Mm.” The Wizard said un-agreeably.  
“Good morning.” Bilbo stated, and began to get up.  
“To think that I should have lived to be "good morninged" by Belladonna Took's son! As if I were selling buttons at the door!” Gandalf scoffed.  
“Beg Your pardon?”  
“You've changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins.”  
Bilbo stopped.“I'm sorry, do I know you?”  
“Well, you know my name, although you don't remember I belong to it. I'm Gandalf! And Gandalf means...me!”  
“ Gandalf,” Bilbo’s eyes lit up, “Not Gandalf the wandering Wizard who made such excellent fireworks? Old Tûk used to have them on Midsummer's Eve!” Bilbo laughed genuinely, and then cleared his throat. “No idea you were still in business.”  
Gandalf’s face was cross. “And where else should I be?”  
“Where else? Hm.”  
“Well, I'm pleased to find you remember something about me- even if it's only my fireworks.” Gandalf huffed, “Yes, it’s decided. It'll be very good for you, and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others.” He finished meaningfully.  
“Inform the who? What?” Bilbo spluttered, “No. No. No! Wait just a minute! We do not want any adventures here, thank you!” He stamped his feet and waved his arms about, “Not today. Not- I suggest you try Over the Hill or Across the Wa-”  
“Apologies Bilbo, would you mind young Pangur for the day? There’s a good fellow.”  
And Gandalf was gone before Bilbo could say good morning.  
And now the strange lad was staring down at him.  
“Hullo.”  
“Hello.” Bilbo said absently.  
“Er, Pangur, at your service Mister Baggins.” Pangur said.  
Bilbo blinked.  
“Sorry Mister Baggins, d’you mind if I come inside?”  
The Bilbo who’s mind had frankly been put out of order by a Wizard was gone in a poof, and he was replaced by Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, respectable Gentlehobbit and gracious host. “Bilbo Baggins, at yours! Oh, course, of course, please do come in!”  
-  
Bilbo and Pangur had an awkward Elevensies of frantically prepared toast and peach jam in the kitchen, then they moved to the sitting room with a bowl of summer cherries.  
With noon quickly approaching, Bilbo decided that the silence between him and the overgrown child occupying his Mother’s old chair was becoming too painful.  
What would his father say! A Baggins with a new guest over for a whole hour and all he knew about Pangur was his name and that he ate like a rabid animal!  
“So master Pangur,” Pangur stopped the cherry pit he had been rolling across his gloved palm, and peered at Bilbo from under the brim of his hat. His eyes were very…unnerving.  
“Are you some sort of wizards apprentice perhaps? Or a Wizard yourself?”  
“Nah,” Pangur said, and crunched horribly into the cherry pit, “I’m tramp.”  
Bilbo winced as the boy swallowed it.  
“A traveler then! Is that how you know that Wizard fellow?”  
“No, I met him just yesterday afternoon, he took an interest in me for some reason and I told him I’d only go with him if he’d let me go on an adventure with him. Gandalf’s famous for his adventures.” Pangur explained, leaving out important details on purpose.  
“ Is he? Oh, but you live on the road Master Pangur, you must have already visited many interesting places.” Bilbo tried.  
“Lots, yeah. Never been this far into the Shire though.”  
“You’ve come here before?” Bilbo was surprised.  
“Well, sure! I know loads of Brandybucks.”  
Bilbo smiled. “Ah, Buckland. That’s nice, I haven’t been down there in years.”  
Pangur grinned back, and Bilbo gasped, and Pangur’s mouth was closed again and they looked afraid.  
“M’sorry Mister Baggins. I’ll be leaving now.” They stood up and a cherry fell from their hand to the floor.  
Bilbo stared at the Cherry. “No, lad that’s quite alright,” Bilbo said faintly, “It’s not as if we can choose how we look after all, haha.”  
The silence was more painful than before, and Bilbo suddenly felt very guilty.  
“Well, quite a set of canines you’ve got there, no wonder you cracked that cherry pit!” He tried.  
And Pangur smiled at him again, with their mouth closed now. “ Thanks. That’s my molars though, and they look pretty normal I should guess.”  
The silence that followed this was only about two seconds long and was broken by lots of laughter from both parties.  
-  
Pangur turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant guest. He knew how to mince and season things and he wasn’t adverse to getting his hands dirty in the garden.  
Pangur even took a nap on Bilbo’s rug by the south facing windows in the sitting room after Luncheon, and slept right through afternoon tea, so Bilbo had a packet of biscuits and some earl grey by himself. Then he woke the lad up so he could wash up for dinner, to which Pangur answered by diving under the coffee table, hissing and spitting.  
After Bilbo had sprayed Pangur down with the hose, Pangur had said “ sorry about that,” and they had moved on with their evening.  
Currently, Pangur sat in a wool blanket and their clothes that were still dry ( their boots, gloves, socks, sweater, and cloak were drying off in the backyard,) at the dining table, nursing a cup of chamomile tea.  
Bilbo himself was just sitting down after an emotionally taxing day to a nice fish dinner, clad in his favorite bathrobe and boxers, when the doorbell rang.


	2. A Warm Hearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarves Dwarves Dwarves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey how’s it going

“What in the world?” Bilbo whispered, and Pangur slurped their tea in a guilty fashion that Bilbo didn’t notice at all, as he got up to answer the door.  
There was a very tall and very frightening looking Dwarf on Bilbo’s front porch. He almost squeaked.  
“Dwalin, at your service.” He rumbled.  
“Bilbo Baggins, at yours.”  
Dwalin grunted, and passed into the house hesitantly.  
“Do we know each other?” Bilbo asked.  
Dwain frowned at him. “ No,” he walked up the front hall, “Which way is it laddie?”  
“Which way is what?”  
“Supper! He said there’d be food, and lots of it!”  
“He said?! Who… said?”  
This is how Dwalin came to be sitting about six seats away from Pangur at the dining table, eating Bilbo’s dinner as he glared at the other guest in suspicion.  
“Very good this, anymore?” Dwalin said between bites, never taking his eyes off of Pangur.  
“Oh, yes!”  
The doorbell chimed a second time.  
Dwalin glanced at the Hobbit. “That’ll be the door.”  
“Oh. Yes.”  
“Balin, at your service.” Smiled a much more approachable Dwarf with an impressive white beard, and bowed.  
“Good evening.” Bilbo said absently.  
Balin looked up at the sky. “Yes. Yes it is, though I think it might rain later. Am I late?”  
“Late for…?”  
Balin’s face lit up as he saw Dwalin through the door, and strode in. “ Evening brother!”  
Dwalin stopped rummaging through the cookie jar on the mantelpiece. “By my beard! You’re wider and shorter than last we met!”  
“Wider, not shorter. And sharp enough for the both of us.”  
The brothers laughed, grasped each other’s shoulders, and smashed their foreheads together in a way that made Bilbo wince harder than the cherry pit incident.  
After Dwalin released his brother, Balin turned and said “Balin, at your service,” to Pangur, who had stopped pretending to sip from their empty cup just now and was observing with plain interest. “Pangur, at yours.”  
“Pangur? That’s not akin to any names of men I’ve heard before.” Balin remarked, and Pangur considered smiling very widely at him or pointing out their own eyes or hands. Instead they nodded.  
“What is your business here?” Dwalin said plainly.  
“I’m not too sure. Queer fellow called Gandalf said if I waited here I could come with him on a journey.” Pangur replied easily, and Balin must’ve noticed their eyes or their hands or their teeth because then he said “ Oh I see,” Very dazedly and shook himself a bit, “ well it’s nice to meet you Master Pangur,” and Dwain looked to his brother, bewildered.  
“Uh, excuse me? Sorry, I hate to interrupt, but the thing is, I'm not entirely sure you're in the right house.” Bilbo cut in.  
“Have you eaten?” Balin said to Dwalin as they entered Bilbo’s first pantry.  
“It's not that I don't like visitors,” said Bilbo, lying, “I like visitors as much as the next Hobbit! But I do like to know them before they come, um, visiting.”  
“What’s this?” Balin said to Dwalin, holding a half eaten piece of blue cheese.  
“I dunno...”  
“I think it's cheese. Gone blue.” Balin said, horrified fascination written on his features.  
“It's riddled with mold.” Dwalin cringed.  
“The thing is, I don't know either of you,” Bilbo attempted honorably, “Not in the slightest. I don't mean to be blunt, but I had to speak my mind, I’m sorry!”  
Balin turned from the crude science project in his hands to smile at Bilbo. “Apology accepted.”  
The Hobbit blinked and then nodded dumbly, retreating to the dining room where Pangur pat him on the back in sympathy, as the Dwarves filled their mugs with ale.  
The doorbell chimed again.  
“Fili,” said a new, blond Dwarf on Bilbo’s doorstep, “And Kili,” said a taller Dwarf with dark brown hair. The pair of them bowed in unison. “At your service.”  
“You must be Mr. Boggins!” Kili cried cheerfully.  
“Nope! You can't come in!”  
“What?”  
“Has it been canceled?” Kili frowned deeply, his foot wedged in the door.  
“No one told us.” Said Fili.  
“ Cancelled? No, nothing's been canceled!”  
“That's a relief!” Kili grinned, and shoved the door open.  
-  
The events that soon transpired Pangur could only describe as barely organized chaos.  
Fili and Kili met Pangur in the dining room, and they could practically feel the mischief radiating off the two. Needless to say, after they had finished moving furniture Pangur got along with the brothers swimmingly.  
The doorbell chimed again. And again. And then Again.  
Now Bilbo with a dangerous temper jerked the door open, a pile of Dwarves came tumbling in, and Pangur was not surprised at all.  
Soon, the pantry only had some crumbs and wrapping left in it and the dining room was alive with cheer.  
Pangur met more Dwarves, the first were three brothers, who all looked and acted very differently.  
Dori was the eldest of the trio, and he fussed over everything and dressed like how Pangur pictured a grandmother. Then there was Nori, who had fancy hair and very sticky fingers, and finally young Ori, who seemed the shy bookish type and was always scribbling away in his journal, ( even as he ate, of course).  
There was Bofur, who had an amazing hat and mustache and seemed very jolly indeed, his extremely round brother Bombur, and their cousin Bifur with an axe lodged in his head.  
The last of these new guests were Oín and Glóin, another set of brothers. Oín was the healer according to Kili, and Glóin was a banker, who was going to be in charge of finances. ( For what Pangur did not know). They both had very impressive beards.  
Most of the older ones seemed quite suspicious of Pangur, and kept their distance, which Pangur did not fault them for. They knew that Dwarves collectively were a naturally suspicious race, and Pangur was always deemed an untrustworthy character by strangers.  
Bofur was polite though, and Fili, Kili, and Ori seemed very curious about Pangur.  
“Excuse me Master Pangur, but are you…” Ori had mumbled at the dining table, his notebook at the ready, “-Human? You seem like a man though you carry yourself strangely, and your eyes are-” Kili said, and Fili hit the back of his head.  
Pangur almost smiled.  
“My mother was human. My father was something that Elves and even some Men like to call “Tree Spirit”.” Pangur replied, and showed their teeth awkwardly.  
The three Dwarves stared at them.  
“Huh. Pointy.”  
“I didn’t think any Tree Spirits could still be alive! Would you please allow me to observe you for my Journal? Purely for academic purposes, you understand.” Ori blurted.  
“What’s a Tree-Spirit?” Wondered Fili.  
Pangur snorted.  
-  
Apparently Dwarves sang. Sang very well too, and were shockingly good at catching and throwing fine china and silverware.  
Needless to say, Pangur was very impressed, and throughout the whole ordeal they could practically see Bilbo’s hair turning grey.  
By the end of the musical number, nothing had been broken save perhaps the Hobbit’s sense of security, the dishes were stacked and cleaned, and all the Dwarves were laughing merrily and puffing on pipes.  
Then a loud knock sounded came at the door, and the noise died immediately. Pangur grew nervous.  
“He is here.” Gandalf said soberly.  
When Gandalf swung it open, and a tall Dwarrow turned around, Pangur immediately recognized him. Their friend Lúfam had spoken of him.  
“Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice.”  
There stood Thorin Oakenshield in the doorway, dressed in the blue fabrics of Durin’s line, his eyes piercing and his hair dark. His beard was cut shockingly short to honor those who were burned in Erebor.  
So Pangur dropped on one knee, and lowered their head. It was very quiet for a long moment.  
“You may rise.” Rumbled a new, surprised voice,  
so Pangur did, but not as much as they could’ve. ( It was a Hobbit’s hole). “Er. Thank you, your majesty sir. Pangur, at your service.”  
Thorin looked at Pangur’s eyes. They were getting very tired of today.  
Then Thorin turned to Gandalf. “Tharkûn, explain.”  
-  
The Dwarves found themselves sitting at the dining table again, while Bilbo stood behind Gandalf and Pangur sat on the floor by the cabinet with the fancy plates and wished desperately that they had some tobacco.  
The lights were now low and the mood was somber.  
Once Thorin had drained his mug of ale, and finished his plate of leftovers, Dwalin was the first to speak up.  
“What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?”  
“Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms.”  
“And what do the Iron hills say? Is Dain with us?” He gazed at Thorin very seriously.  
Thorin looked down. “They will not come. They say this quest is ours and ours alone.”  
“You're going on a quest?” Piped up Bilbo, eyes wide.  
“Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light.” Gandalf said.  
Bilbo went and returned with a candle , placing it on the map, and read: "The Lonely Mountain."  
“Aye, Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time!” Glóin nodded.  
“Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold. "When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."”  
“Uh, what beast?” Bilbo said, puzzled.  
“That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age.” Bofur supplied, “Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks,” the Dwarf thought for a moment. “Extremely fond of precious metals.”  
“Yes, I know what a dragon is.” Bilbo snapped.  
Ori stood from his chair so quickly he nearly toppled over. “I'm not afraid! I'm up for it, I’ll give him a taste of Dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!”  
“Good lad, Ori!”  
“Sit down!” Dori hissed, glaring at both of his brothers.  
“The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just 13, and not 13 of the best...nor brightest.” Balin interjected in a dark tone.  
“Hey, who’re you calling dim?!”  
“Sorry, what did he say?”  
Now Fili felt moved to speak. “We may be few in number, but we're fighters, all of us, to the last Dwarf!” And Kili, grinning added, “And you forget, we have a Wizard in our company- Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!”  
“Oh, well. I wouldn't say-” Gandalf coughed,  
“How many, then?”  
“What?”  
“Well, how many dragons have you killed?” Dori asked. Gandalf coughed, louder.  
“Go on. Give us a number!”  
Then all hell broke loose, yelling and grabbing-of-collars, finger-pointing when suddenly- “SHAZARA!” Thorin bellowed, and Pangur jumped about a foot off the floor.  
All was silent again.  
“If we have read these signs, do you not think others have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon has not been seen for 60 years- eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk.” Thorin began,  
“ All our vast wealth lies unprotected. Now we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?!” He yelled, and the other Dwarves returned his enthusiasm loudly.  
Balin reluctantly spoke- “You forget, the Front Gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain.”  
“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.” Gandalf said, and pulled a large metal key from his cloak. It looked to weigh at least a pound.  
“How came you by this?” Thorin questioned, voice disbelievingly quiet.  
“It was given to me by your father, Thrain. For safekeeping.” Answered Gandalf, and passed the key to Thorin, “It is yours now.”  
“If there is a key...there must be a door.” Fili said importantly, and Kili coughed suspiciously.  
“These runes speak of a hidden passage to the Lower Halls.”  
“There's another way in.” Kili uttered.  
“Well, if we can find it, but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map-and I do not have the skill to find it.” Balin said.  
“But there are others in Middle-earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done.” Gandalf argued with practiced ease.  
“That's why we need a burglar.”  
“Hm. And a good one too, an expert, I'd imagine.” Bilbo mumbled.”  
“And are you?”  
“Am I what?”  
“He said he's an expert. Hey-Hey!” Oín cheered.  
“Me? No. No, no, no. I'm not a burglar, I've never stolen a thing in my life!” Bilbo exclaimed.  
“Well, I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins. He's hardly burglar material.” Balin sighed.  
“Nope!” Agreed Bilbo.  
“Aye, the Wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.” Dwalin said, and glared at Bilbo.  
The gathering now became loud and rowdy once again.  
“Enough!”, Came Gandalf, suddenly dark and towering, “If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!” The table rattled and the lights dimmed, and quiet was brought about once again,  
“Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet! In fact, they can pass unseen by most, if they choose to do so, and while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to him...which gives us a distinct advantage,” Gandalf began quietly,  
“You all asked me to find the 14th member of your company and I have chosen Master Baggins. There's a lot more to him than his appearances suggest, he's got a great deal more to offer that any of us know, including himself. You must trust me on this.” He finished.  
“Very well-we will do it your way.” Thorin said.  
“No, no-” the smallest voice tried.  
“Give him the contract.”  
“We’re off!”  
And Bilbo had a contract in his hands.  
“It's just the usual, summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration-funeral arrangements, so forth.” Balin provided.  
“Funeral arrangements?” Bilbo squeaked.  
Pangur saw Thorin lean to whisper in Gandalf’s ear, and Gandalf nodded a bit hesitantly.  
"Terms: Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one-fourteenth of total profit, if any." Hmm. Seems fair. "Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by...or sustained as a consequence thereof, including, but not limited to lacerations...evisceration..."” Bilbo read, then stopped short, did a double take, and looked helplessly at the gathered assembly.  
“Incineration?”  
Bofur chewed his pipe, “Aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye- you all right, laddie?”  
“Mm? Yeah.” Bilbo was as white as a sheet. “I feel a bit faint.”  
“Think furnace with wings,”  
“Air. I need air.”  
Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You're nothing more than a pile of ash!”  
“Hmm. Nope!” Bilbo then fainted on his front hall carpet with a thud.  
“Oh, very helpful, Bofur.” Gandalf huffed.  
Then the wizard made Bofur and Bombur move Bilbo to his sitting room.  
“You still haven’t explained this.” Thorin addressed the Wizard, and inclined his head towards Pangur.  
-  
“Do any of you know what a Tree Spirit is?” Gandalf asked, and the Dwarves looked to each other, shaking their heads.  
“Aye, I do.” Balin smiled softly at Pangur.  
“I know!” Ori said excitedly.  
“Well, I am glad our scholars already know, but for the rest of you, a Tree Spirit is a race that brings good fortune and omens to travelers and those who seek them. They are said to be simple enough creatures, and enjoy fruits and wandering the lands. They haven’t been seen since before the last Great War,” this caused a lot of whispering to begin.  
“Ahem! As I was saying, they were all thought to be gone, but it seems that Pangur here was sired by one of these Spirits .”  
Now all eyes were fixed on Pangur, and Bofur and Bombur had already returned.  
“Does he bring us an omen?” Kili said.  
“Why don’t you ask them yourselves?” Gandalf replied, folding his hands on the table.  
“Do you bring us an omen?” Fili asked, folding his hands on the table diplomatically.  
“I dunno. Have you got any pipe weed?” Pangur snorted.  
Thorin did not look impressed.  
“Okay, okay. Gandalf had me come to Mr. Baggins’ house because he said if I “helped him” with an undisclosed problem he’d let me come on a journey I guess,” Pangur relented,  
“You guess?” Thorin raised his brows.  
“No, sorry. That’s just how I got here. If you want an omen, not sure but,” Pangur scrunched up their face, “It seems like someone is going to start following you lot.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Can’t be sure. If I had to guess though they’ll probably ride great beasts.” Pangur shuddered. “ I’ve always hated dogs.”  
Balin turned to Thorin, a look of dread on his face. “You don’t think…”  
“No. That is not possible.” Thorin insisted. “Gandalf, what is this “undisclosed problem?””  
“Well, it would not be unwise to take Pangur on _your quest_. They don’t want any gold or jewels, they simply wish to go on a journey. They also know the hinterlands from here to The Iron Hills very well-they’ve travelled their whole life.” Gandalf stated.  
“You’ve been to The Iron Hills?” Dwalin turned to Pangur with a look of surprise on his face.  
“Yeah, the last time I was there was two years ago, I guess. My friend Lúfam lives there with her mother.”  
“Hm.”  
“And who knows,” Pangur mumbled a bit absently, “ Maybe I’ll be good luck.”  
For a minute Thorin said nothing, and no one else spoke. The leader of the company drummed his fingers on the table, and furrowed his brow.  
“I trust you can find your own food in the wilds Spirit?” He asked.  
“Yes.”  
“And you don’t wish to take any riches for yourself once we reach the mountain?”  
“I don’t.”  
He sat and thought for a moment longer.  
“I do not have the time to consider this. I’m trusting you, Gandalf.” Thorin stood, nodded to Pangur, and left the room.  
-  
That evening, after the Dwarrow had sung an awe inspiring and foreign song by his fireplace, Bilbo felt something stir within him that he hadn’t felt since he was a faunt, in search of Elves in East Farthing woods.  
He wanted to go on an adventure.  
-  
The song of the misty mountains was sad and beautiful. Like Dwarves themselves, Pangur supposed.  
They had huddled in a dark corner, eyes gleaming as they listened.  
One by one, the Dwarves left to find sleeping arrangements. Thorin was the last to go, after he had stared into the fire, fists clenched so his knuckles were white, until all that was left were soft glowing embers.  
“Goodnight Master Oakenshield.” Pangur bid him.  
And then he was gone. So, Pangur curled up like a baking loaf of bread in an oven, as a knot popped in the fire, and fell asleep on the hearth. They dreamed of mountains.


	3. Roads Go Ever On and On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The company leaves the Shire.

The next morning Pangur woke up when the sun began to peak over the hills and through the windows at about 6:30. 

They rose with the sun normally, so they only felt a bit tired. First, they made their way outside and found their dried and slightly cleaner clothing. They dressed in the bushes.

Then Pangur went back inside, slipped their boots on, crept past some Dwarves, and began scrambling eggs and preparing toast for themself. 

They were careful not to make any loud noises, but Fili and Kili still stumbled in about half an hour later and looked at Pangur hopefully. 

“We smelled eggs.” Kili yawned. In contrast to his brother, his hair was a bird's nest. 

Pangur made more eggs and more toast, and then put on the kettle to boil because they wanted some black tea.

“Make your own caffeine.” Pangur said as they dished food out to the two. 

They sat at the dining table with the brothers and they all sleepily enjoyed their breakfast. Soon, more Dwarves filed in and foraged through Bilbo’s three pantries for breakfast. 

The last to rise was Gandalf, who was tired enough that Pangur finally bullied him into sharing some of his pipeweed.

When Breakfast had been had, everyone quickly began packing up and taking food with them, running to all the corners of Bag End. 

Pangur pocketed an apple and a loaf of bread along with their pipe weed. Everything else they had was packed and ready to go. They waited outside on the bench Bilbo had been on the day earlier and smoked. 

Soon, it was time to go. The Dwarves and Gandalf all made their way out of the door at 9 sharp. Pangur followed them down the road for about a quarter of a mile, until they reached a large fenced field where some ponies were grazing. There was an old Hobbit leaning against the fence.

“Good morning Mister Balin!”

Thorin and Balin had arranged for the purchase of 16 ponies and a horse. They led the beasts down the road and began riding towards Buckland. Pangur walked next to Fili and his pony in somewhat companionable silence. 

They had just left Hobbiton, and Pangur was beginning to wonder if they would even see Mr. Baggins again when the Dwarves started to place bets on him. 

“I say he doesn’t show at all.” Fili declared. Pangur thought of the way Bilbo’s eyes lit up yesterday when they spoke of their travels, and how he peeked at the singing Dwarves before the fireplace last night when he thought nobody was watching him. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” They said. 

“Oh? And do you want to place a bet master Spirit?” 

“My name’s Pangur and I’ve only got a few coins to bet .” They grumbled, falling behind to the luggage ponies, and lit their pipe.

“Is that a yes?” 

“Fine!” 

Pangur suddenly heard something from the hills behind them and stopped.

They listened.

“Wait!” 

Pangur grinned.

Not a moment later a breathless Bilbo was right next to Pangur, waving around the contract. “Wait! I signed it!” 

Fili groaned and threw a sack of coins at Kili’s face.

-

For the rest of the day the Company of Thorin Oakenshield rode on, Pangur walked and kept up fine with the ponies in the rear. Balin offered a pony to Pangur of course, but the luggage was important and Pangur practically walked for a living, so they declined. 

By sunset, they had already passed through Buckland and crossed the Brandywine, and they stopped and made camp in that same thicket of woods Pangur had slept in only two nights ago. 

Bombur cooked some nice beef stew, and the Dwarrow kept to themselves. Pangur and Bilbo did not speak to one another, but shared their dinner on the same fallen tree. 

The first night on the road always made Pangur feel like they were teetering on the edge of a high cliff, and there was a great storm approaching. They felt in this, strangely positive. 

-

Pangur awoke just after Thorin Oakenshield the next morning, when the first sunbeams pierced through the canopy of branches they had slept under. 

They sniffed their own hair and blanched, for they now reeked of campfire smoke. 

Pangur only ever lit small fires for cooking of course, and their nose was admittedly very much adverse to smells that weren’t to be found in the woods or on a dinner plate. 

“I thought you were an experienced vagabond?” 

Pangur looked to Thorin then, who was managing to look regal with the sleep still in his eyes, yet also like someone who had just bit into a lemon. Pangur smiled tiredly. 

“I usually travel alone- my fires tend to be less large and less smelly.” 

Thorin said nothing then, so Pangur boiled water for tea and had their morning smoke. At Bilbo’s regular tea-time that day the company reached the town of Bree. 

It was just as Pangur remembered- they had spent most of their formative years living in the town’s children’s home, ( which had been repurposed into a public house sometime in the past six years). 

The buildings in Brees’ center were clustered together uncomfortably, all looming, made of stone, with chimneys that always smoked, and eternally haggard looking folk in the streets. 

First, the company unloaded their luggage and handed over their ponies to the stables, then Thorin led them down the main road and they found themselves at the Prancing Pony. It was always the place for travelers. 

Glóin decided that the most money they could spare for a night in Bree was on five small rooms upstairs, and everyone else would have to pay for their own things. It was dangerous to sleep without shelter in a place like Bree, and it would be the only night they spent in proper beds for a long while. All the Dwarves quickly divided the rooms by close and distant family, which allowed Bilbo, Gandalf, and Pangur the last room.

Then everyone left in a hurry to get their own provisions in town before the shops all closed. 

Pangur filled their water skin, bought rations, some more sewing supplies, and a simple and decent short-sword from the smithy with the last of the coins from the bet on Bilbo. 

Pangur was browsing some overpriced tackle at around a quarter to six that evening, when an arm was thrown around their neck and shoulder. They were pulled into an almost- squatting position that was hard on their knees, and gave a hiss of pain. 

“Good Evening master Spirit!” 

“Hullo Master Kili, would you please get off my person,” They grumbled, and once he was on the ground, “ What is it you’re needin’ of me?” 

“My Brother and I would like to apologize if we have addressed you incorrectly in the past, and to know how we are to address you moving forward.” Fili suddenly came from next to his brother.

Pangur blinked. “What?” 

“Gandalf calls you “they,” and we will too, if that is what you are called,” 

“We can stop calling you  _ master  _ Spirit, and if you like we can use  _ miss _ !” Kili chimed in. 

Pangur laughed, “Oh, that’s what you meant! Yes, I’d like it if you’d refer to me as “they” rather than call me any other way, and “master” and “miss” are good enough titles, but I’d rather just be Pangur.” 

Fili frowned. “We should address you by another title, it’s only respectful.” 

“Who needs titles? Just call me Pangur, for I should hope we become friends on our journey.”

The brothers shared a look, then grinned at them. “Alright then Pangur, but only if you call me Kili,” 

“And me Fili.” 

Pangur grinned right back at them. They walked together back to the inn, hoping to find dinner, and that was where they continued their conversation. 

“You’ve picked out a good sword for yourself,” Fili said when he noticed it, strapped to Pangur’s pack, and he looked pleasantly surprised, “ Men are normally rubbish at smithing.” 

“Actually, a Dwarrowdam was who taught me how to find good quality in metals.” Pangur replied, sipping at a mug of peppermint tea. 

Fili glanced down at the mug. “Aren’t you going to have an ale Pangur?” 

“No. I don’t really like ale.” 

“Don’t like ale!”, Kili cried, scandalized, as he returned to their table with two mugs full of it, and slid one to Fili, “That’s like saying you don’t like gold!” 

“I don’t like gold.”

Kili sighed. “My analogies are lost on you, strange new friend.” 

“Oh! You’ve made friends already?” Ori plopped down next to them with a less sizeable mug of ale, and opened his journal immediately. The other Dwarves were beginning to return to the inn. 

“I would make friends with everyone if I could, I think. Life would be a lot easier.” Pangur hummed. 

“Even Elves?” Kili leaned towards them, his brows raised. 

“Even Elves.” They nodded.

“You really are strange!” 

“I’m not strange, I’m just not a Dwarf,” Pangur said, “Back me up on this Master Baggins!” 

The Hobbit who was carrying a very full dinner plate and a pint of ale stopped walking, and Pangur pulled out the chair next to them. 

“Good Evening Pangur.” He smiled. 

“Good Evening, how are you?” 

“Oh I’m doing well, I wasn’t able to find a decent handkerchief in town, but I suppose I’ll get used to pony hair.”

Bofur sat down on the other side of Bilbo, and slid an arm around his shoulder. “Oh, mine wasn’t good enough for you?” 

The Hobbit spluttered.

-

The next day of travel felt more sluggish, they all missed warm beds and sleeping under a thick roof. 

The roads they traveled on were more or less empty, and Pangur noted the dry smell of fennel almost everywhere they went. Summer was fastly approaching and they felt it in the air.

In this first leg of the journey, Pangur began to build friendships with Bilbo, Fili and Kili, and surprisingly Ori. 

When Pangur was feeling tired they walked in the back of the line next to Bilbo and his pony, and let him go on about the politics of the Shire and his worries. He was pleasant company. 

Of course, Fili and Kili were always laughing and jesting, which Pangur quickly learned to appreciate. They often walked beside their ponies and ate with them, they traded stories, from legendary pranks in the Blue Mountains to Pangur’s travels. 

Ori was slower to act, and he approached Pangur more timidly, at first while they smoked during the nights. The young Dwarf was very curious about Pangur, and his involvement with them began as an academic interest- information on Tree Spirits and River Spirits was very sought after by scholars, Ori had explained. 

He asked Pangur about their diet, their height and weight, their eyes, claws, teeth, hair growth, diet, sleep schedule, and if they had any magical properties. Eventually Pangur asked Ori some questions back, and well, that’s that. 

One afternoon, while they were passing through a green and flat country, Ori asked; “How do Tree Spirits age? Oh! Do you age differently because you’re half human?” 

“I’m not sure,” Pangur said, “I’m sixteen years old now, but I haven’t a clue how I’ll age or how long I’ll live.” 

“  _ Sixteen?”  _ Fili choked on his apple, “ I thought you to be at the very least twenty-five by the reckoning of men!” 

Disbelief was plain on the faces of all the company within hearing range. 

Pangur laughed, “I don’t think you’ve got a good grasp on how men age. To most men I do look about my age.” 

“Are there any other tree spirits you could ask?” 

said Ori, who was looking a bit winded at this new information. 

“There is Ren, who is one year older than me, and half human as well, and there is old Toothy, who’s name is very different in the tongue of us Spirits. He’ll be with the valar soon, so if I wanted to ask him I don’t suppose I could.” Pangur kicked a rock on the path. 

“There’s only three of you?” 

Pangur could tell that even Thorin was listening now. “Yes, now. In the last age there were loads of us and we were “merry and full of life,” Toothy says.” 

“D’you know this Toothy?” Kili asked. 

“I do. He’s the reason I know the songs and tongue of my kindred, I met him when I was first on the road. He taught me much about the world and myself, and I miss him greatly.” Pangur said, somberly. 

The only sound until they set up camp that night was the ponies hooves digging into dirt and the scratching of Ori’s quill upon page. 

During dinner everyone was unusually nice- Pangur got the first bowl of stew, and the Dwarrow sat closer. Bofur tried his best to make small talk with them, and Fili and Kili were practically glued to their sides. Thorin even nodded at them as they got up to take second watch, which felt unnatural. 

They crawled back to their blanket when Fili and Kili took over. 

After a bit of gazing at the stars, Pangur heard rustling to their left and saw Bilbo creep over to Myrtle, feeding her an apple. 

“ _ Shh, sh. There’s a good girl.”  _

A shriek came from over the hills. Pangur smelled something foul and familiar on the wind, and sat up. 

“What was that?” Bilbo yelped, jogging over to Fili and Kili. Pangur quickly followed. 

“Orcs.” Pangur whispered, a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. They felt him stiffen. “Orcs?” 

“Throat-cutters,” Fili nodded, “There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands will be crawling with them.” 

They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams, just lots of blood.” Kili said. 

The silence that followed felt heavy and tense, but then one of the brothers snickered, 

“You think that's funny?” Thorin growled to their left, “ You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?” 

“We didn’t mean anything by it.” 

“No you didn’t. You know nothing of the world.” Thorin spat, and thundered over to the cliff-side. 

“It’s alright lad,” said Balin, “your uncle has more cause than most to hate Orcs.

-

Pangur had heard the story before of course. From Lúfam.

But looking upon Thorin Oakenshield as you heard his tale was different. Pangur understood now. 

“And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one...I could call king.”  
“And the pale Orc? What happened to him?” Bilbo came quietly.   
“He slunk back onto the hole from whence he came,” Thorin said bitterly, “That filth died of his wounds long ago.”   
But that’s what Pangur was afraid of.   
They had smelt it on the Western wind this night, and they had thought they smelled about the Dwarves when they met. They just didn’t want to believe it.   
Pangur had met the great beasts and the ones that rode them before, unfortunately, and the smell of wargs was hard to forget.


End file.
